


Only for the Night

by Riona, th_esaurus



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29516724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riona/pseuds/Riona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/pseuds/th_esaurus
Summary: They sleep pretty close together in the tent, yeah, but – that’s all four of them, and it's a tent; that's what you expect. It's not the same assharing a bedwith someone.Sharing a bed, he's slowly realising, withNoct.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 20
Kudos: 119





	Only for the Night

Ignis books them in at the Three Z’s at Longwythe. This regal adventure has been nothing but camping so far; camping and that one miserable stay at Galdin Quay that was meant to be a luxury and turned into a sleepless night of short, sharp phone calls, patchy radio signals, and frantically trying to corroborate the news that Insomnia had really—

Had actually fallen.

Nobody slept that night. And then it wasn’t safe to spend money – trackable, traceable – so close to the Crown City for a while. Back to that tent life. 

So, yeah, Prompto’s looking forward to a bed and a bath in an actual _motel_. It’s not exactly a luxury spa, but the prospect of running water that doesn’t come from an icy stream sure as heck feels like one.

Prompto lingers outside to take a few shots of the desert, which is totally worth it but does mean that, by the time he turns around, everyone’s disappeared inside and he has no idea where their rooms are. Whoops.

The receptionist directs him to a door at the end of the corridor, and he knocks, a little hesitant, just in case ‘hey, you know the guy in glasses who just booked in and talks like a textbook?’ somehow got him sent to someone else’s room. But Ignis opens the door, with a small bow and a sweep of his hand that Prompto _thinks_ is probably a joke? It’s hard to tell with Ignis.

Two beds in here, both claimed. Noct’s in the bathroom, Prompto guesses, his clothes strewn over one of them. Gladio’s already sprawled out on the other, reading.

He should’ve been quicker. He was really hoping to room with Noct. Now he guesses he’s with Ignis, who... it’s not like Prompto doesn’t _like_ the guy, he’s always polite and they’d have starved to death by now without him, but he’s kind of difficult to read. A little intimidating.

But trying to get Gladio to swap rooms isn’t exactly a less intimidating prospect.

“So where’s our room?” Prompto asks, looking over at Ignis.

Ignis gives him a weird little frowning glance. Maybe he’s not wild about the idea of sharing with Prompto either. That’s fine, that makes sense, Prompto guesses.

“I’d rather thought you might have deduced that,” Ignis says, after a moment. “You _are_ standing in it, after all.”

“Yeah, but I mean _ours_. You and me.”

“There’s only the one,” Ignis says. “Two rooms seemed an unnecessary expense.”

Prompto looks at Ignis for a moment. Looks over the room, which he pretty clearly remembers as having two beds.

It’s still got two beds.

Maybe nobody’s noticed yet?

“Uh,” he says. “There aren’t enough beds, right?”

“Two is quite adequate,” Ignis says, in that dismissive way he sometimes has that makes Prompto feel like an idiot for speaking. “We’re used to sleeping in close quarters in the tent, after all. I understand your concerns, but I’d be happy to share with Gladio myself.”

Gladio snorts from the bed. “Not gonna apologise for having muscle.”

Okay, Prompto’s concerns weren’t about the Gladio space thing. (Although maybe they should have been? Now that he thinks about it, Ignis taking that particular hit _is_ kind of a relief.) They sleep pretty close together in the tent, yeah, but – that’s all four of them, and it’s a tent; that’s what you expect. It’s not the same as _sharing a bed_ with someone.

Sharing a bed, he’s slowly realising, with _Noct_.

It’s not like he can say ‘actually, no, Ignis, let me share with you’, right? That’d be weird, that’d be suspicious.

He can’t even explain why that’s his first instinct. He knows Noct a lot better than he knows Ignis; he’s a lot more comfortable around him. It’s just that this specifically, the idea of sharing a _bed_ with him, feels kind of terrifying.

He’s being stupid, he tells himself. It’s just Noct. It’ll be fine.

Heck, they chilled together on Noct’s bed for hours as teenagers, surrounded by textbooks and laptops and half-eaten cereal bars and greasy, empty jerky wrappers. Their knees touched sometimes when Noct leaned over to grab a notebook he’d abandoned earlier, griping about why the hell a king needs to know _algebra._ And that was fine. It was fine!

He still checks with Noct when he comes out of the shower. “Hey, Ignis thought we could share a bed.” (Actually, he just says, “Hey, Ignis thought we could share,” and then waves vaguely in the direction of the bed, because the last two words aren’t coming to him.) “Uh, you okay with that?”

Noct shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

-

It actually _is_ fine, the first night. The bed’s big enough for them to have clearly defined sides. Plus it’s warm enough for Prompto to settle down on top of the covers once Noct’s tucked himself underneath them, so it’s basically like they’re in separate sleeping bags, not sharing a bed at all.

The temperature in Leide can drop pretty sharply at night, and Prompto wakes shivering when it’s still dark. He’s shifted around to get himself under the covers before it really hits him that Noct’s underneath them on the other side. It’s immediately toasty in the bed’s cocoon, warmed through the evening by Noct’s body heat. Prompto almost feels bad about sharing it. 

Whatever. He doesn’t even know what he’s worrying about. It’s convenient, he reminds himself.

He kind of half-wakes later on with Noct’s back against his, and that’s not a problem either. It’s not like he doesn’t get this close to the others in the tent. Ignis is probably suffering some similar indignity on the other side of the room, maybe Gladio’s ridiculously buff arm flung across Ignis’s face, or his tree trunk legs taking up three quarters of the double bed.

It’s fine. He doesn’t have to freak out. Noct can fall asleep in a plastic chair by a dead campfire; in a bed, he’s unconscious in seconds. He sleeps quietly and unfussily; Prompto didn’t draw the short straw here.

When he thinks about it like that, he feels kind of smug. Yeah, he thinks, yeah, I totally lucked out. So the next couple of motel stays, he falls into the same bed as Noct and barely thinks about it.

One night he—

He doesn’t really recall waking up. He was asleep, dreamlessly, and now suddenly he’s pointedly awake, abruptly aware. There’s a weird heat on the back of his neck. That’s probably what woke him. Would it be stupid to summon his pistol? He feels it’s unlikely Noct has been eaten by a Red Giant that’s now snoozing in the bed behind him, unbeknownst to the rest of the gang, gently burning his nape for kicks. That’s – extremely dumb. 

The weird heat comes and goes in time with the almost imperceptible wheeze of Noct’s sleeping breath. 

He must’ve rolled over in his sleep. Close enough that Prompto can feel his soft, warm huff every time he exhales. 

Prompto keeps perfectly still. He can’t fall back to sleep because he gets antsy sometimes, tosses and turns, and if that happens, then he might nudge Noct awake or their bodies might touch for real or something.

Which means he just has to stay awake for the rest of the night, he guesses. That’s totally feasible. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is, but he knows there’s only a finite number of hours in a night.

He lies there, counting Noct’s breaths on the back of his neck, for what definitely feels like an infinite number of hours. 

Eventually, after he’s spent way too long internally begging Noct to move, Noct actually does. It immediately becomes clear that Prompto should have specified he needed Noct to move _away_. Instead, Noct’s kneecaps nudge the back of Prompto’s legs. Noct’s hands curl up between his chest and Prompto’s shoulderblades. The tip of his nose nuzzles against the nape of Prompto’s neck, and Prompto thinks that he can feel Noct’s breath-damp mouth actually touching his skin, and he tries not to giggle a bit hysterically about that. 

“Noct?” Prompto hisses, just in case Noct is actually awake and this is all a hilarious prank. 

Noct doesn’t reply, but he does make a sort of whispery sleep-sigh, and wraps one dozy arm over Prompto’s waist. Prompto sucks in his stomach to try and save himself, but it’s too late: Noct’s – Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum is spooning him. 

_Is this treason—?_ Prompto thinks frantically.

He screws his eyes shut. No, he tells himself, no, you’re being a gargantuan idiot. Accidental cuddling is not grounds for execution. Noct is _asleep_. He’s probably dreaming of, jeez, a giant plush trout, or Lunafr— no, no, don’t go down that road. Prompto breathes in steadily through his nose. He can feel Noct’s palm against the bottom of his ribcage rise and fall calmly. He really is sound asleep. 

The curtains are brighter, halfway to daylight, when Noct eventually draws his arm back and rolls away. Which doesn’t seem possible, because they were dark a moment ago. That means Prompto has _slept_ , which is definitely, definitely impossible.

He’s facing a bigger question than that right now, though. Did Noct move because he’s shifting around in his sleep? Or did he wake up and actually notice the weirdly tender holding thing?

Does Noct _know_ that they were spooning half the night? Or is it Prompto’s secret? Because, honestly, Prompto’s not sure he’s comfortable with either option.

His whole right-hand side is warm from Noct’s body against it, and the feeling of trying to regain some temperate equilibrium is unsettling. It just feels like he’s getting cold.

It must be 6 am on the dot, because he hears the quiet atonal blip of Ignis’ alarm, silenced without fuss, and then the rustling sound of Ignis getting up, as promptly as he does every morning in the tent. Prompto listens to the familiar phases of Ignis’s dawn routine – his feet finding his slippers, the long stretch up towards the ceiling and then down to his toes, repeated four times, a quick glance through the motel blinds to scout the parking lot and the road beyond, and then the low clatter of the coffee machine kicking into gear. That’s a long enough wait, Prompto decides, and he unceremoniously rolls out of bed, puts on a show of yawning and stretching and scratching his belly under his pyjamas, and waves good morning to Ignis. A totally normal morning after a totally normal night.

“Sleep well?” Ignis asks mildly, and Prompto’s almost-but-not-quite certain it isn’t a leading question.

“Who, me? Sure! Slept like a log. Like a baby! Always do!”

The coffee – Ignis always lugs around a bag of pre-ground Ebony wherever they travel, despite the motel’s freely offered sachets – smells like chocolate gone wrong, but maybe that’s what Prompto needs. His head feels muddy and tired, and he isn’t properly sure he can stay awake an entire day on a couple of hours of paranoid sleep. “Any Ebony going spare?” he asks hopefully.

Ignis raises an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. “Unusual choice for you, Prompto.”

“Oh, you know. It just – smells so darn good?”

Ignis pours him a mugful and Prompto drinks it quickly and unhappily. Gratefully, though.

He hasn’t actually looked over at Noct yet. He does now that the thought zips through his mind, obviously. Noct’s still fast asleep, curled on his side, one corner of the blanket tucked between his crossed arms. Even the disgruntled sounds of Gladio getting up and ready don’t wake him. Prompto remembers abruptly how awkward he felt the first few times he slept over at Noct’s apartment when they were younger – on his sofa _on his sofa obviously –_ and woke up hours earlier than Noct ever did. He was never sure if he could help himself to breakfast or turn on the TV, so he tended to bury himself back under the spare duvet and play King’s Knight with his headphones in until Noct dragged himself out of bed, complaining about hunger, at almost lunchtime. 

“Dude, don’t you have an alarm?” Prompto asked him once.

“Huh?” was Noct’s only reply.

Ignis wakes him up gently but firmly before Prompto has a chance to object. What would he possibly object about, anyway? The fact that he has no idea what to say to Noct, his best friend in all the world, and that’s never happened before, and it feels like tar gunking up the back of his throat? That would be dumb.

“Morn,” Noct manages, barely awake. “Morning, I mean.”

Prompto nods back, swallows stickily. “Got the whole word out there, huh?”

“Go away,” Noct mumbles, and pads around the room half blind, looking for the bathroom door. 

That’s it, then. That’s going to be the sum total of their discussion about last night. And that’s fine. What even happened last night? Prompto slept badly and Noct didn’t. That’s all. Heck, maybe he’s just not used to sleeping on a real bed after so long in a sleeping bag on the pebbly ground. That’s almost definitely it. 

That’s a relief, Prompto thinks. Just him being his dumb self as usual.

His throat still feels like it’s filled up with slurry. But he swallows hard enough to make it go away.

-

It happens again. Consistently. Whenever they’re sharing a bed, they go to normal sleep with a normal amount of space between them, and Prompto wakes up as the filling in a royal burrito.

(Wait, wouldn’t it be a Prompto burrito? If you wrap a tortilla around rice and beans and garula chunks, that’s a garula burrito. You don’t call it a _tortilla burrito_.

This is the kind of thing Prompto thinks about as he lies awake in his best friend’s arms.)

He’s getting better at sleeping through the night, at least. It’s not like it’s _uncomfortable_ , really. It just feels like there are a lot of question marks hovering over the bed, and he’s not sure he’s brave enough to look directly at them.

Ignis’s alarm is usually quiet enough not to wake Prompto, but he’s training himself to consciously listen for it, so he can wriggle quickly away from Noct before anyone sees their sleeping situation. It makes the whole thing feel sort of weird and illicit, like he’s having some kind of affair.

At least Noct’s a deep enough sleeper not to be disturbed when Prompto hastily, furtively ends their cuddle time in the mornings.

He could probably get out of Noct’s arms earlier in the night, come to think of it. He just...

Well, he just doesn’t.

-

They don’t talk about it. It’s not a _thing_ , so of course they don’t talk about it.

It’s not like Prompto can bring it up, anyway. He kind of feels like Noct must know about it, right? There were non-cuddly nights, and now all the nights are cuddly. There’s been some kind of shift there, like Noct decided he wants to—

Like Noct decided that he’s _okay with_ cuddling. Something conscious.

But what if it’s not?

Maybe Noct just got more relaxed about sharing a bed, and that’s just naturally led to spooning Prompto in his sleep. Maybe he has no idea it’s happening. What, is Prompto going to tell him? ‘Hey, Noct, you keep wrapping yourself around me when you’re unconscious. Wanna make out? That’s not an invitation; that’s an actual question. _Do_ you want to make out? I have no idea if I do, but maybe it’ll help if I know how you feel about it?’

Yeah, that’d be a fun conversation. It’ll weird Noct out, and then he won’t want to share a bed any more.

Which would probably solve some problems, when he thinks about it. It’d make sense to switch around the sleeping arrangements. It’s just—

It feels kind of cold, now, when they’re sleeping in the tent. When it’s just Prompto in his sleeping bag, nobody tucked against his back.

Plus there’s a part of him wondering if this is going to happen no matter _who_ he shares a bed with. It’s slightly too easy to picture Gladio literally spooning him to death.

-

Everything continues to be just _fine_ until they find themselves driving around the ass-crack of Cleigne, with no leads on the Royal Tomb they’re meant to be scouting and midnight rapidly approaching. Darkness means daemons, and there’s not a town in sight, but at least Ignis spots light: an approximation of civilised society. Well, a gas station. There’s no motel, but a rickety caravan with no wheels sits permanently parked under one of the floodlights, so Ignis primly hands over their gil.

“Dibs!” Gladio yells immediately on spotting the bunk beds. He grabs Ignis’s overnight bag and hefts it onto the top bed, jumping into the bottom himself and stretching out with a satisfied groan. Then he fixes Prompto and Noctis with a – is that a smirk? Oh, it’s definitely a smirk. “Age before beauty, kids.”

He’s seen what Prompto notices a split second later: the other sleeping arrangements. A fold-out sofa, barely wider than a single. 

“Guess we can go top to tail?” Prompto says to Noct, and why does his voice sound like _that_ so much recently? (He has wondered if he’s hitting second puberty, because he can’t remember if second puberty exists or not.) 

Noct shrugs. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

Is that a no? It sounds like a no.

“Or I can take the floor, that’s cool too. I love the smell of linoleum in the morning!”

Noct just shrugs again, almost frowning. “Nah. It’s fine.”

That’s not a no. Prompto doesn’t know what Noct’s actual thoughts are on the bedding situation _at all_. 

So once he’s had his five minutes in the bathroom to slap a wet cloth under his armpits, and clean his teeth, and muss the wax out of his hair with his fingers, Prompto climbs onto the fold-out. And Noct, his ablutions similarly seen to, clambers in with him. The angle of the bunk beds against the wall, and the sofa, perpendicular, means neither Ignis nor Gladio can see them, and that seems wildly important somehow.

“Budge,” Noct says immediately. “There’s a spring or something poking into me.”

“There’s nowhere to budge _to_ ,” Prompto hisses, because that was his entire point right from the start.

“Ugh,” Noct says, as if that’s an answer. But instead of getting back out, he just twists over awkwardly, squeaking all the old metal joints of the unstable fold-out, and curls his whole body against Prompto’s chest.

If a coeurl spots you, you’re meant to go totally still; they only recognise you as prey if you’re moving. That’s not necessarily what you’re meant to do in _this_ situation, but Prompto doesn’t _know_ what you’re meant to do in this situation, so he’s just going to have to rely on what he knows about coeurls.

Can Noct tell this is freaking him out? He’s got to try to act like it’s not a big deal, he doesn’t want Noct drawing any weird conclusions.

Which should be easy, because it’s _not_ a big deal. It’s just sleeping, and they just don’t have enough space, and everything’s totally normal. It’s not like he’s not used to being this close to Noct by now. 

But Noct is awake right now. Noct is awake and aware and _consciously_ tucking himself against Prompto like it’s a normal thing. And they’re face-to-face, which definitely hasn’t happened before; Noct’s mouth is _right there_ and Prompto has no idea if he’s expected to do anything with it.

“Lights out,” Ignis calls from alarmingly close by, and Prompto prays that he is not expected to get up and turn off the switch, because the idea of actively asking Noct to move feels worse than anything about this situation so far. But he hears Gladio mumble and close his book and fumble for the switch. Then everything is dark. 

Everyone is consciously quiet. Noct’s hair is tickling his chin. Prompto is lying very heavily on his own arm, his other arm uncomfortably straight down his side, because there is literally nowhere else to put his arms that won’t be touching Noct. There’s a part of him that vaguely seems to remember that, if you lie on your arm all night, you cut off the circulation and it falls off and you die. Is that right? That feels right.

Gladio must fall asleep fast, because he’s snoring within minutes. Nobody can ever tell if Ignis is awake or not, because he sleeps like the dead. But Noct’s breathing still hasn’t fallen into that familiar rhythmic pattern, the calm nasal whistle he makes when he’s dozing nowhere to be found. They’re two guys, awake, nuzzling up against each other in bed, chest against chest. Parts nearly touching other parts.

Noct’s arm goes a little loose and slips down Prompto’s hip. Prompto’s pyjamas rode up a bit when they were settling, and Noct’s fingers brush past the hem, and touch Prompto’s skin. His actual skin. His fingertips flutter a bit, and then technically Noct’s hand is under his shirt.

Noct’s hand is _under Prompto’s T-shirt_ , where Prompto keeps his _nipples_.

Prompto breathes in and it sounds way too much like a gasp. He desperately hopes Noct won’t notice but no, oh jeez, Noct notices and his hand immediately retreats and he’s turning over, fighting to make an inch of space between their bodies.

“Sorry,” Noct mutters.

Prompto feels like the world is crumbling. Like a gigantic sinkhole is opening up underneath just his part of the caravan. He needs to say something before it claims him. He needs to make a joke, or play it cool, or fake a snore even though nobody’s ever told him he snores in his entire life. 

“No,” Prompto chokes.

“What?”

“No, I – don’t. Be sorry.”

They’re whispering, badly, but Noct’s facing away from him now and his voice seems small. “...I thought you didn’t like it.”

_It_. So it’s a thing, now. Officially.

“I don’t not like it?”

“...Was that an answer or a question?”

Prompto’s mouth is so, so dry. “Both?”

Noct is quiet for ages. The sinkhole is devouring Prompto. Just eating him whole. “...Forget it, dude. Just. Sorry, okay?”

Gladio grunts loudly into the silence. Then murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep, and falls quiet once more.

Prompto’s heart is trying to break the land speed record. It’s an ache in his chest, a pain that he thinks has been building for weeks and weeks, slow and subtle and easy enough to ignore until now. He’s falling, and his ribcage is pulling itself apart, and nobody’s doing anything about it. Nobody’s even noticing. 

He dips forward, and his mouth is suddenly against Noct’s neck. He talks so quietly that Noct is probably feeling the words more than hearing them. He lets the words spill out to try and ease the pressure on his heart. “I don’t wanna forget it. I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think I want it to stop. I just wanna know, like, do you – do you want to kiss me? Is that it? Or am I like a human body pillow? That’s – forget I said that. That’s dumb. But the kissing thing stands, I think.”

Noct is very still for a long time. 

Well, Prompto thinks, they had a good run. Nice friendship, fun while it lasted.

Sighing with effort, Noct rolls over again, pulling the blanket up as he goes and cocooning them both inside it. His face is really close again. His eyes are open. Really close. 

Noct’s mouth moves like he’s chewing, and eventually, finally, words come out. “Everything really fucking sucks, Prom,” he says. It’s not what Prompto was expecting. “I just – I didn’t think things would end up like this. And I’ve been dreaming about – well, that doesn’t matter. I just needed – I felt like I needed – I dunno, some, some comfort or something.” Even saying that much looks physically painful for Noct, and Prompto empathises miserably. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m just sorry.” 

Noct makes a _tsk_ noise under his breath, like he’s chastising Prompto, or himself, or both of them. “It helped. Having you here.”

Prompto wants to clarify that this was never about kissing, then, but it doesn’t seem appropriate. He also wants to hold Noct. But he isn’t sure about that either. He’s never instigated. 

“I wanna help,” he manages.

Noct nods briskly, but nothing more.

“If this helps,” Prompto tries again, and shuffles close, so their knees cross over and their legs are touching and his arms are winding around Noct’s back. “If it helps, then I want it.”

“Only then?”

“I want it,” Prompto whispers into Noct’s hair. It feels like a terrible secret. 

But Noct’s huff of breath is warm against his collarbones, and his hands are tight and reassuring. He fits real good against Prompto like this.

Prompto’s still worried about the thud of his ribcage. Whether Noct can feel it like a drumbeat against him. But he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t say anything for such a long time that Prompto thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep for real this time. 

“...I’ve thought about it, okay?”

“You—?”

Noct sounds stubborn, and annoyed about his own stoicism. “I’ve thought about kissing you.”

“I see,” Prompto says diplomatically, trying not to choke on his own breath.

“...That’s it? ‘I see’? Jeez, Prompto.”

“What the heck am I meant to say?!”

He feels Noct shrug furiously in his arms. “How should I know?”

“Can you assholes _shut the hell up?!_ ” Gladio’s voice is so loud after all their hissing that both of them startle, and then freeze, and Prompto has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out of displaced terror. They daren’t say anything else. The mood is totally ruined. But after a minute or two, he feels Noct relax in his grip, and make himself comfortable, and within another minute, his breathing really does settle, steady as a calm pulse, and he’s asleep. 

Prompto closes his eyes. 

It’s a thing, and they’ve talked about it.

There’s a sinkhole beneath him, but Noct is holding on.

-

Prompto wakes up. Prompto wakes up because he’s been asleep.

There’s sun slanting through the window of the caravan, and Noct is warm in his arms, and—

There’s sun slanting through the window of the caravan. Which means that someone has opened the curtain.

Prompto squeezes his eyes shut. It’s fine. Ignis hasn’t necessarily _noticed_ that he and Noct are cuddled up together. 

Well, yeah, Ignis is pretty big on protecting the prince. It seems likely that, after a night’s sleep in a not-especially-secure caravan, he has at least looked at the prince. But it’s not like Prompto’s important; his eyes probably skipped right over him.

“No rush to extricate yourselves this morning?” a voice asks, low and amused.

Prompto opens his eyes and looks up into Ignis’s.

Yeah, he’s probably noticed.

For once, though, Prompto finds he’s actually not freaking out. He and Noct have _talked_ about this. It’s something he understands now, at least kind of. And, now that Noct’s arms around him aren’t some terrifying unknown thing, they’re actually kind of comforting, something to keep him steady in this situation.

“You could’ve said something if you’d noticed,” he mumbles, getting Noct’s hair in his mouth. “Can’t believe I’ve been waking up at six all this time.”

Noct makes an incoherent grumbling noise into Prompto’s collarbone. Still asleep, or close enough to it.

“My sincerest apologies,” Ignis says, which Prompto’s pretty sure is Ignis for _ha ha, screw you_. “May I enquire as to the nature of your relationship? I’ll do what I can to facilitate it, but there are certain political matters that may need to be ironed out.”

Prompto hesitates.

“We can talk later in the day, if it’s too early to gather your thoughts,” Ignis offers.

“It’s not that,” Prompto says. The nature of their relationship? Noct said he’d thought about kissing Prompto (side note: holy shit), and Prompto said _I see_ , and then they slept in each other’s arms for eight hours. “It’s just, uh, I’m not sure I actually know.”

“Ah,” Ignis says. “I didn’t mean to touch on a delicate subject.”

“No, it’s okay,” Prompto says. Noct’s still tucked against him, his legs tangled around Prompto’s, and they both know about it. Kissing might be an option in the future; maybe they will, maybe they won’t. There’s still a lot he doesn’t know about this. But it’s good, whatever it is, and he knows enough for it not to scare him any more. “I’m okay with it.”


End file.
